3.

Eruptis:  Magistrate & Throng Make Stew

ow the magistrate Armbo Amagogue spake unto the futurist, saying, What things that we know seem to flake—by the which we mean, I suppose, Seem to be foolish?

            And the futurist answerd up & said, Seeming were’t foolish in the umpth degree to speak unto thee of foolishness, for it is much thy bizniss, whereas I am notte so schoold.  ’Twere thou who shudst tell us all of foolishnoss; and then will we examin those things that flake.

            And the magistrate were exceeding irkt.  And he said, Ploy not to funnel the multotude into thy pocket with a scoopf of wit; they are mine.

            But hearing this, the mulditude did glower, and said among them, This magistrate!  Tho he be practist; tho he be this grizzily old hero; tho galore is the power he doth pull; tho he be set for life:  still, who is he to imagine that we, an heterogenous and rambunxius throng, are his?  Surely are we our own multitude, the most of us contemparary of mind and unenthused of his dustly exploits, feeling no devotien unto him, nor no awe nor respeck.  All that he is unto us is an eggy face neath a honcho hat—which hat in fact belongeth unto us the citisens, as forsooth doth he him self unto us belong, he being our magistrate, and not we his throng.

            Morever (saith the multitude), wherefore hath he forsaken his due functien of mere formalitie—whereby he waveth us on, saying, Well, do then as ye will—and hath sunk instead to examining this sociedyinsulter on the merits of the charges, as tho an any of this require any pondring?  All that we need of him is his marq upon that writ o’ condemnasien, as we wud have no more of this futurist’s molarkie; nor also of Armbo Amagog’s.  For we are not highminded.

6

            And further said they, Now that Armbagog hath crosst over and offended us, ’tis fated that we move against him, e’en as we move eventually against every one.  And now that this heat hath us all good & crazed, cha! proceed we to it.  Blame this day and our testy dispositiens upon shoddy breeding and the reckless escapaids of our mothers in their own times of heat.

            And the multitude reached neath the hat and seize-ed the magistrate outen the lenschambre, and carried him into a basement where buckets were kept.  And behold, there was war in the basement. 

            And the soldjers that were aloft there in Grand Statien playd oblivius and made thundrous scootings of tables & beds & boots, in appearance of casuel arranging of their environs, that none might thereaftre accuse them, saying, Ye heard but sat idle.

            And lo, so capabol was the magistrate Amagog in battle that much of the multitude was smit & destroyd, and its ability to wage war severe degraded.  And the remaindour & survivorshipf were disperst as refuse unto divers reaches, separatnd from their sustaining broods and from their old chumm Dressler of Pie (for they all had known him, such a get-around were he).

            Then emerg-ed Armbo Amagog outen the basement, he bearing a booty of spears & shivs harvested offen the smitten multitude.  And he gaze-ed aroundabout and spake with slobver on his lip, saying, Where be the futurist who caus-ed this, that I might punch him with my spears, and publish my final opinien?  And he lookt, and lo, there in the horizon rideth a bounding mote upon a racecamel, making for receptive climes, with churning dust and with a distant shouting unto the camel:  Hasten, camel, as I am a futurist with a recent histry of rejexien, and I wud be saved & deliverd.  Then, after that I am saved & deliverd, might I be compelld to eat thee, for neither have I coin for provisien.  I had hoped to make my purse there in that ungracious place.  And the mote which was the futurist did with chains aflapping flail the camel forth.

            And Magistrate Amagog, he hobbleth unto the camelry for to take a chasecamel.  But lo, every camel’s hock hath been cut by the futurist, and the beast can neither run.  And evry horse at the horsery hath by the futurist been pepperd about the eyes, and neither can it see.  And the magistrate saith, Well, I my self shall run him down by foot.  But he looken down, and lo, the futurist hath cutten his foot also, at some point.

            Therefore sat he for a time in his Grand Statien with potiens and mystic foot remedies, and therapeutaceous distraxien, and physiciens skilld in doctoring the dismal truth of his progress.  And the words of the futurist came slipping upon him, that he was causd a prespective in the which he seen anew the operashiens of the world and his fix therein.  And Amagog wept, for that he haten to have his thoghts all scramblt.